A faint smile crossed her lips again, and she gestured as though tapping him on the forehead one more time.
Suddenly, he was hovering over Sacred Valley, a Thousand-Mile Cloud beneath his feet. Yerin and Eithan floated to either side of him, and the Wandering Titan stared them down.
The three of them unloaded their most powerful attacks in coordination, and they struck a heavy blow against the Titan.
Until its tail caught Yerin unexpectedly. Lindon lunged out of position, and the hand of a Dreadgod closed over him.
Lindon died.
Then he was on Windfall, and he decided not to go back. The months sped by as they gathered the remainders of Sacred Valley. There were more survivors than he expected; tens of thousands of them.
They re-settled Sacred Valley one restored building at a time. The suppression field was weakened, and somehow—the vision skipped over this part—he managed to deactivate it completely.
Lindon saw himself, looking virtually the same as he did now, tutoring his three black-haired children in the sacred arts with Yerin at his side. His future self reached out, scanning the children…and checking each of their twin cores.
The futures washed over Lindon, so he only got a glimpse of each.
There were futures where he and Yerin split up and went their own separate ways, futures where he had children, futures where he and Yerin ascended from Cradle in months, even futures where he married Mercy.
And there were futures where he killed the Dreadgods.
He saw himself years in the future, one arm white and one coated in what looked like black scales, his eyes black pools with white circles. He stood over the crumpled body of the Wandering Titan, cycling its power…and condensing the spare earth madra as he vented it, tucking it away for storage.
Northstrider loomed up opposite him, moving for the Titan, and Lindon appeared in his way. The clash of their wills warped space, and the vision changed.
Lindon saw himself with a giant white tiger—the Silent King—splayed open and hanging in the air in front of him. Blood spattered the room, and he sawed away with Wavedancer, carving out a beautiful binding like a smooth pearl.
Outside, the world trembled under the pressure of the three remaining Dreadgods, but he had his prize already. He could do what no one had ever been able to do: forge a weapon with the power of a Dreadgod.
The visions passed, leaving Lindon feeling out of breath. He sunk deeper into his chair, though surely he didn’t have lungs here.
“That…those were…possible futures, right?”
“Strands of Fate. All possible, if some more likely than others. And that list was by no means exhaustive.”
“My children…” It seemed like a silly detail to focus on, but his curiosity pushed him forward. “Did they practice the Heart of Twin Stars?”
“If things play out as they do in that strand, you’ll leave behind a more powerful bloodline legacy than just split cores. Not to mention the gifts they receive from their mother.”
Lindon’s imagination spun ahead of him. How powerful would his children be? He might leave behind an ability that outshone even the Arelius detection web.
He noticed Suriel watching him, running armored fingertips over the smoky lines that drifted across the back of her arm. “You could leave behind a bloodline that has all the advantages you lacked. They would have a much easier start than you did. But how many people, from powerful families with unending resources, have made it as far as you have so quickly?”
The gray ghost of a woman appeared over her shoulder and began to speak, but Suriel stopped it with a gesture. “The legacy you inherit is nothing compared to the legacy you leave behind.”
Suriel waved to her ghost, exchanging words with it that Lindon was not permitted to understand. That left him to his thoughts, chewing over her words.
When their incomprehensible conversation ended, Suriel sighed and turned back to Lindon. “Even here, we don’t have unlimited time. But I hope this has helped you.”
Lindon pressed his fists together and stood so he could bow deeply. “I cannot express my gratitude enough.”
The Abidan continued softly. “I’m sure you remember what I said before. Any sage will tell you that every Path boils down to one: improve yourself. But you’re a Sage yourself now. You should know the rest.”
She stood from her own chair, lifting his face to meet hers. “You improve yourself, but not for yourself alone. For a greater purpose.”
“Apologies,” Lindon said, “but this is my purpose.”
“No, this was your goal. Not your purpose.”
“So then…what is it?”
She rested her hand on his shoulder, and rather than a messenger of the distant heavens, he saw her as a friend lending him encouragement.
“You have the chance to show me that. Wei Shi Lindon…show me the future.”
[—here! You’re just a guest! You—Lindon! Where did you go? Wait, are you back? Is it really you? Say something that only the original you, and not an exact, perfect copy of yourself, would ever say.]
Lindon didn’t say anything.
With a brief effort of will, he opened a void key. Not his. Sophara’s.
Ekeri’s armored Remnant growled at Lindon as he entered, but he wasn’t here for her. At his intention, natural treasures began to rise from their sealed, scripted chests all around the room.
There were two here that were more powerful than the others: a source of water and fire aura. They were sealed off now, in scripted jars of their own, but he could still feel them.
For this, he didn’t need them. He needed balance. He gathered up some of the weaker treasures, matching them effortlessly to one another and burning them for soulfire. He needed to top himself off for this, and he had used up some of his soulfire. More had leaked away under the influence of Sacred Valley’s suppression field.
When he had replenished himself, he began to arrange stronger treasures in a circle around him.
[Advancing won’t be an advantage inside the suppression field,] Dross pointed out. [We’ll just lose power faster.]
But it will help against the Titan.
[“Help” is such a strong word.]
Advancing to Overlord to fight a Dreadgod was like a child bringing two sharpened sticks to fight a tiger instead of one, but Lindon would take everything he could get.
Someone sidled up beside him, but Lindon had felt him on his way. “You should stand back,” Lindon said. “If I make a mistake, you could be hurt.”
“Don’t make a mistake,” Orthos said before crunching into an empty wooden chest that had recently contained a natural treasure.
Lindon nodded absently. He was already hesitant to waste time advancing when every second counted, but the better prepared he could be, the more people he could save.
When the treasures had been arranged neatly around him, Lindon felt the soulfire in his spirit begin to resonate. The aura that blew in from Moongrave, rich and thick compared to Sacred Valley, shook in harmony with his soul.
And Lindon prepared himself with the words he had figured out days before. The Underlord revelation was about what motivated you to begin, but the Overlord revelation was who you were now.
“I…advance,” Lindon said.
He moved forward, onto the next challenge, no matter what stood in his way.
Even the Wandering Titan itself.
The aura shook around him, the treasures burned to colorless fire, and they swirled through him. Unlike his Underlord revelation, which felt like it had deconstructed and rebuilt him from head to toe, this advancement was a cleansing.
The soulfire passed through him in a hot wind, searing and comforting at once. His channels grew stronger, his cores flared brighter, and the lingering weakness from his time in the suppression field was washed away.